


The Party

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Army!John, M/M, Pre-Johnlock, Punk, Punklock, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Banter, Teenlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home on leave to find Harry has thrown another party. Little does he know someone has broken into his bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party

**Author's Note:**

> This is an entry for fuckyeahteenlock's Punklock contest on tumblr. I may make this into a series, but for now, I'm leaving it as-is. Also, I've put a tag for every character mentioned, although three of the six are extremely minor characters. If I do continue this someday, then they'll probably become more major, ha.
> 
> EDIT: I've re-arranged a couple of things and tweaked a few more things since it's been long enough I don't want to keel over from boredom when I re-read this, ha. I hope it makes more sense now, and I did have to change one major thing that will lead into the next part which should be up within the next week depending on my internet connection and my finals, ha. Wish me luck! xx

“Get the fuck off of me!” a short, blonde girl screamed over the Sex Pistols record playing in the den as a slightly taller, blonder man dragged her through the party. “You think you’re so noble and shit, you fucking asshole!” the teen continued, thrashing in the man’s strong arms. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her around the waist before slinging her over his shoulder, minding the various studs and spikes sewn into her clothing.

The crowd of college and uni students parted and stared as the man in his Army fatigues walked determinedly up the stairs, his shiny combat boots cushioning his feet from the broken beer bottles and discarded cigarette butts.

“Harry, why do you do this to me?” the man sighed as he shoved past couples making out in the small hallway. Shifting her on his shoulder, the man reached into his pocket to fish out his keys as he approached the door at the end of the hall. Once unlocked, he attempted to open the door to find it jammed shut. Groaning, he started banging on the door. 

“Open the door, you fucking twats! The door was locked for a fucking reason! And whatever you've shoved in front of it better not be broken!” he called, banging on the door again. He waited for a full thirty seconds before growling and taking a step back. Swiftly, keeping his center of gravity on the heel of his right foot, he swung his left leg up and forced his weight into the heel of his left as the door burst open from the impact, sending the small folding chair propped up under the handle flying across the room.

“Fucking hell,” the man gasped, taking in the scene beyond the door.

“John…?” Harry asked the man from over his shoulder. John ignored her and stomped into the room.

“Alright, get the fuck out,” he said to the group of young men lying on his bed with needles in their arms.

“Oi, we don’t hafta go nowhere. If ya want some, ya gotta pay,” a posh looking boy said, grinning lecherously at him.

“You daft fucking shit, this is _my_ house, this is _my_ bedroom, and you weren’t fucking invited in here, now _get the fuck out and don’t fucking come back_ ,” John snarled, glaring down at the kid before him.

“C’mon, Seb, let’s get outta here. He's in the fucking _army_ ,” a slightly older-looking posh kid hissed, tugging on the other kid’s arm.

“Fine. Come on, Victor, Jim, we're leaving,” Seb replied, standing up shakily and hauling two of the three boys out of the room.

“What about this one, then?” John called, gesturing towards the long, limp body lying on his bed.

“He already paid,” the kid gave another lewd smile before leaving the room with a laugh.

“Fuck,” John muttered under his breath, noting the leftover lines of coke set up on his desk. “Fuck,” he repeated, hefting Harry down and on the floor, propping her up against the bed.

“John?” she asked, looking up at him, eyes wide and scared.

“S’alright, Harry,” he muttered, walking towards the bed to inspect the prone form lying there. He pulled the blankets down and noted that the kid was still fully dressed in clothes similar to his sister’s. Sighing, he rolled the kid over and examined the track marks on his arm. They were infected.

“Who’s he?” Harry asked from the floor, tugging off her own Docs before sitting up on her knees to take off the kid’s.

“Dunno,” John replied, checking his pulse. It was steady. John reached into the kid’s jean pockets and found a studded wallet. He opened it up and raised a thick, blond brow. “His name’s Sherlock Holmes, he’s nineteen, and he goes to Cambridge,” John laughed in disbelief.

“Fuck,” Harry concurred, flopping down on the foot of the bed. “He’s cute, though,” she said, appraising the thin, pale body covered in ripped, black clothing peppered with studs and spikes.

“Suppose so,” John murmured, getting out his first aid kit from under the bed before tending to the infected track marks as well as the newest ones that were already scabbing over.

"What's this?" Harry asked, pulling a small, black box from underneath Sherlock's body. John shrugged as she opened it up. "John, look! It's a lock picking kit! Mary has one, too, but she's shit at it. She didn't even read the manual," she giggled, picking up a long, metal rod. John shook his head in exasperation and went back to tending to the boy's wounds. He wasn't so sure about them being self-inflicted quite yet. 

He and Harry sat there for a while, John tending to the boy’s wounds as Harry examined her brother and the stranger in his bed.

“I got £1,800 for throwing the party. Mary said it would be good to at least charge ‘em before they trashed the place,” Harry said, settling down a bit. John glanced over at her and sighed.

“Of course Mary told you to do it,” John replied, rolling his eyes. “You really ought to get better friends. You know, ones who don’t fuck you over.”

“Mary doesn’t fuck me over. I’m top, remember?” she giggled. John groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Harry, where’s Mum?” John asked, attempting to tamp down his frustration.

“She went up to Aunt Lucy’s for the weekend; said she’d be back Monday,” Harry yawned, stretching her short limbs.

“Seriously?” John asked incredulously. “I’ll be gone by then,” he huffed, stripping Sherlock of any clothing or accessory with protruding metal on it. John wrenched back with a curse and sucked on his index finger as he glared at the kid’s shoulder. “Fucking safety pins,” he muttered, being more careful.

“Oi, where’s _he_ going to sleep?” Harry asked petulantly, glaring at Sherlock.

“Don’t worry—he’s sleeping in my bed so you can go to yours,” John sighed, folding up the ripped, black fabric that was barely considered a shirt.

“Fine,” Harry huffed, hugging her folded knees to her chest.

“I know you’ve been sleeping in my bed, but as long as I’m here, you’ve got to use your own,” John said, slipping Sherlock’s pants-clad body under his blankets.

“I keep it clean!” Harry protests, glaring at him. John gave her a pointed look and she glanced away with a blush. “Besides, it still smells like you,” she muttered.

“I didn’t know you were so sentimental,” John grinned at her. She glared and slumped her shoulders before perking up and glancing over at her older brother.

“And where are _you_ sleeping, then?” she asked, raising a blonde brow at her brother.

“Oh, come on. I sleep in a huge room of blokes every night. I’m not scared of sleeping directly next to one, even if I don’t know him. Besides, I figure I can at least keep an eye on him so we don't end up with a fucking murder charge on top of whatever Mum's going to say about the mess,” John replied, standing up and cleaning the cocaine off of his desk before heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, getting to her feet.

“First, I’m going to clear out the house. Then, I’m having some fucking tea,” John replied, walking out the door.

“Hey! John, wait! They’re paying customers!” Harry cried before running after her brother.

A groan sounded from the bed as Sherlock shifted and slung his arm over his bleary eyes. With a sigh, he took a look around the immaculate room with clouded grey eyes before rolling over and burrowing his face in the best smelling pillow he’d ever lain on. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope that was okay. And the whole kicking the door down thing--that's not like a suspension of belief kinda scene. That actually happened, ha. My cousin was being a brat and had locked her bedroom door and put a folding chair under the handle so you couldn't get in, and my uncle kicked the door down. It was epic as fuck. If he had just wiggled the handle a little more, I think the chair would have slid down anyway since it was so easy for him to kick it all in, though.


End file.
